


Nothing's Wrong

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M, well... not technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 00:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: Peter rose to his feet in one quick, smooth movement, pulling Johnny’s gaze back to himself. One hand delved into the inside pocket of his jacket and emerged with a little velvet box. “Geez, Johnny,” he said, laughing, as he moved around the table to drop down on one knee. “You couldn’t have made it to dessert?”





	Nothing's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> It's not what you're thinking

Peter had been a little… twitchy, all night.

(Well, their waiter was kinda clumsy and Peter’s brain went haywire every time someone tripped near him with a sharp object in their hands, but he was still twitchier than Johnny would have expected.)

Johnny crossed one leg over the other, sitting back in his chair. He was done eating anyway; it was just the stupendous spider-fool and his last two ravioli who were stopping up the works. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” he asked exasperatedly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Peter insisted. Five long, scarred fingers were drumming lightly on the table, and his other hand smoothed over his thigh restlessly.

“Uh huh.”

“Johnny,” Peter said, leaning forward and holding out his hands, “please. There is _nothing_ wrong.”

Johnny chewed the inside of his lip, the corners of his lips downturned, as he eyed those strong forearms. Finally, he heaved a sigh, reaching out to take Peter’s hands. “You’re sure?” he asked suspiciously, and Peter’s grin tilted sideways, all fond and warm. “We aren’t here because Dr. Octopus is working in the kitchen, or something?”

Peter’s thumb trailed back and forth over the back of Johnny’s hand as he laughed. “As far as I know, there are no supervillains in a two-block radius.”

“Well.” Johnny pulled a face. “That seems a _little_ optimistic, don’t you think? This is New York. At the very least, if you go two blocks straight down, you’ll probably find the Mole Man.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, in a voice like he wasn’t really listening, and Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Seriously,” he snapped, pulling his hands back to himself. “Something’s going on, and I’m getting tired of you lying to my face about–”

Johnny broke off. The TV in the back corner- Peter had picked the restaurant, a decent Italian hole-in-the-wall that was just informal enough that Peter didn’t feel (his words) like a monkey in a suit- had switched from a puff piece about some charity work the Avengers had done to breaking news.

Big battle in Central Park. Everyone was there.

_Everyone_.

Peter rose to his feet in one quick, smooth movement, pulling Johnny’s gaze back to himself. One hand delved into the inside pocket of his jacket and emerged with a little velvet box. “Geez, Johnny,” he said, laughing, as he moved around the table to drop down on one knee. “You couldn’t have made it to dessert?”

Gasps and murmurs spread through the restaurant, the whole place going quiet and expectant as Johnny just… sat, frozen. His heart pounded in his chest.

“Are you gonna make me say it?” Peter asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice as he flipped open the box. The ring was gorgeous, dripping with glamour and elegance. “Johnny, will you–”

Johnny fumbled for his wallet, tossing a few bills blindly onto the table, then caught Peter by both the lapels and dragged him bodily to his feet.

“Awww!” someone said, thinking Johnny was about to reel him in for a kiss, but Johnny wasn’t paying attention to anything but the impostor in the ugly sports coat. Every fiber of his being screamed _wrong_ , this was _wrong_ , Peter couldn’t be _manhandled_ like this.

He kept one hand curled painfully tight around Not-Peter’s arm as he steered them quickly for the door, ignoring the guy’s quiet, nervous protestations and the shock and confusion on the other diners’ faces.

“As soon as we’re out of this restaurant,” he snarled, too quiet for anyone else to hear, “you’re going to explain to me who you are, what you are, and what game you think you’re playing, trying to impersonate my boyfriend.”

“Johnny, I don’t–”

“You know what I just saw on the news, ‘Peter’?” Johnny shoved him out into the late evening air, letting go just long to burst into flames. He caught Not-Peter under the armpits instead as he took to the sky, fury roiling through his veins. “I just saw _Peter Parker_.”

They set down on a roof, high above curious onlookers and security cameras, and Johnny didn’t flame off as he retreated as far as he could from this guy who _dared_ –

Sparks flew; Not-Peter flinched, despite being twenty feet away. Johnny snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and demanded, “Talk.”

“God!” Not-Peter threw his hands in the air, and… He didn’t _transform_ , so much as Johnny could abruptly see what he should have been seeing all along. The guy was approximately Peter’s height, but that was the extent of the resemblance; he was pale and skinny, with black hair and watery eyes and a straight, pointy nose.

“Talk about unlucky breaks. Saw him on the goddamn news,” he said disgustedly, tucking the ring box back inside his ugly sports coat.

Well–Peter’s ugly sports coat. It hung off of this scarecrow of a human being, too long and too wide and designed for someone with significantly more muscle mass.

Johnny sneered. “You wouldn’t have fooled me for much longer anyway, you know. Peter Parker, nervous to propose? Please. He starts thinking about marriage by the third date.”

“All I needed was to fool you long enough to get you to put on the ring,” the impostor said blithely, unbothered by Johnny’s scorn. “It’s a whole demonic contract sort of thing. Ah, well; catch you next time.” Not-Peter shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile that was… unsettling.

Johnny shifted, something in the back of his mind yelling at him that- appearances aside- this guy was _not_ human.

“Which way is Jersey?” Not-Peter asked, taking one impossible step fifty feet backwards onto the roof’s waist-high concrete wall. “I always forget.”

“Hey, you can’t just–” Johnny pushed off from the ground, but instead of taking off across the roof after the impostor, he crashed hard onto his knee, his flames suddenly extinguished.

“Extinguished, Johnny?” Not-Peter asked pityingly, “Or did you ever flame on in the first place?”

And–

He was gone, but it felt like he never even existed.

“Now I see why Peter hates Mysterio so much,” Johnny muttered, rising slowly to his feet and grimacing at the throbbing protests of his knee. His phone buzzed; it had several times over the last couple of hours, apparently, but Johnny’s mystery date must have kept it from making a sound.

There were a couple texts from Sue and one from Ben, all gently concerned about his radio silence and absence from the Central Park battle, but it was the selfie from Peter- just part of his face, smiling eyes and windswept hair against the New York City skyline, captioned “missed you today”- that really rankled.

_You_ , Johnny texted back, _had better start pinching pennies to be able to afford a bigger engagement ring than the one that demon just tried to give me_.


End file.
